


the horror and the wild

by vachement



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachement/pseuds/vachement
Summary: Geralt wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed before, but there was something…offabout Jaskier. Once he started seeing it, it was like he couldn’t stop. They weren’t new, Jaskier’s oddities, and hardly alarming in the grand scheme of things, but Geralt found himself cataloging them all the same.Eyes too blue, teeth too sharp, the way dandelions bent ever so slightly towards him as he walked, Geralt could go on and on.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 1140
Collections: Identity Crisis





	the horror and the wild

**Author's Note:**

> title from the amazing devil, because i spent literally 20 minutes trying to think of another one and couldn't
> 
> i adore the concept of fae jaskier so i figured it was finally time to write some
> 
> enjoy!!

Geralt wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed before, but there was something…  _ off  _ about Jaskier. Once he started seeing it, it was like he couldn’t stop. They weren’t new, Jaskier’s oddities, and hardly alarming in the grand scheme of things, but Geralt found himself cataloging them all the same. 

Eyes too blue, teeth too sharp, the way dandelions bent ever so slightly towards him as he walked, Geralt could go on and on. Some of them had to be tricks of the light; that feral smile had been so out of place on the bard, and it had flickered back to normal in a moment. Geralt must have seen it wrong. And the echoes of horns that he’d seen in the woods that one time, well, it must’ve been a shadow of some kind. 

It wasn’t like a Witcher not to trust his senses, but Geralt couldn’t believe any of the conclusions that they were pointing to. Jaskier was as human as they came. And Geralt’s medallion didn’t vibrate when the bard was near, anyway, so it was a moot point.

(There were creatures with enough power to cast glamours to fool even a Witcher’s medallion, but they rarely came out from under their hill. Geralt didn’t think on them for long. Besides, Jaskier could lie with the best of them.)

It became routine, to ignore the strangeness that sometimes clouded Jaskier. It wasn’t worth pushing for explanations that didn’t matter. The bard was Geralt’s friend, and his oddities didn’t change that. All humans were weird, anyway. Probably. Geralt didn’t have enough experience with humans to know one way or another.

Jaskier was a human, albeit an odd one, Geralt decided, and he let that be the end of it.

(He could admit, if only to himself, that he was afraid of what he’d find if he pushed. So he didn’t push.)

\---

Jaskier always wore a buttercup necklace hidden under his shirt. Geralt had never seen him without it, not even when bathing. The chain always glinted around his neck, secretive in meaning despite its blatant presence. Geralt had asked about it once, and Jaskier had told him with a bittersweet smile that it had been a parting gift from his mother, and Geralt had never brought it up again. The scent of sadness, sickly sweet like rotting fruit, had been deterrent enough to write it off as another one of his oddities.

Geralt could see the shine of it on his chest, ominously close to where the nekker’s claws were about to sink into flesh. Jaskier was yelling something and trying to move, but Geralt could see exactly where the nekker’s claws would pierce his jugular if the bard didn’t get out of the way at a Witcher’s speed. 

“ _ Jaskier _ !” he shouted, hurtling his body forward as fast as he could. His silver sword swung through the air as Jaskier stumbled backwards, clutching his chest. Geralt couldn’t smell any blood, which was a good sign.

Still, Jaskier should never have been near enough to the nekker to get hurt in the first place. Geralt channeled his anger into taking the monster’s head clean off its shoulders with one swing of his blade. Blood spattered, thankfully away from him, as the head hit the ground next to a familiar necklace. 

The chain had snapped at the mercy of the nekker’s claws, clearly. Geralt bent down to pick it up. It made his fingers tingle; it had strong magic attached to it. The break was fixable, thankfully; they’d just have to stop at a blacksmith’s at the next town they visited. Geralt turned to tell Jaskier as much, but the bard’s back was turned.

Jaskier was crumpled against a tree, face pointed away from Geralt, head bowed. There was something off about his appearance, something that could no longer be blamed on odd shadows or tricks of the light. Geralt’s medallion was going crazy against his chest.

“You’re fae,” Geralt gasped, wide-eyed. 

Jaskier whirled around. His eyes were saucers in his pale face, impossibly old and youthful at once. “Well, fuck,” he cursed around a mouthful of sharpened teeth. He ran a hand through his hair, long fingers brushing against spiraling brown horns. Still, the awkward smile he sent Geralt was exactly the same. “Any chance we can write this off as you hallucinating from too little sleep? No? I thought not, but no harm in asking.”

Geralt took a step forward, and Jaskier flinched away. A human wouldn’t have seen it, but Geralt wasn’t human. Horrified, he froze. “Jaskier,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Jaskier’s smile was strained, stretched,  _ fake _ . “Silver won’t work on me,” he said faux-cheerily. He met Geralt’s eyes, not begging, not pleading, just  _ sad _ . “You’ll need iron. Don’t worry, I won’t fight back.”

Geralt was hyper aware of the sword still in his hand. He dropped it as if it had burned him. “ _ Jaskier _ ,” he said again, trying to fit everything he couldn’t say into that one word. He’d never hurt Jaskier; he’d rather have his own heart ripped out of his body, would rather face a hundred drowners with no weapons or potions, would rather  _ die  _ than make Jaskier smell like sickly sweet sadness and acrid fear. 

It didn’t matter to him that Jaskier was fae. Jaskier was still  _ Jaskier _ . 

Geralt hoped that what he was thinking showed on his face, because he sure as hell couldn’t figure out how to say it out loud. He took another step forward, slowly telegraphing his movements and watching to see if Jaskier flinched again.

Jaskier stood tall, coiled tension in his limbs slowly dissipating as Geralt made no move to reach for the iron dagger at his belt. He still looked apprehensive, but Geralt thought that had more to do with a fear of rejection than a fear of being killed. He might not have been able to read people very well, but he could certainly read his bard after two decades of traveling together.

“If you want me to go, I will,” said Jaskier. His cheekbones were more prominent like this, and Geralt kind of wanted to trace the jut of bone with his finger and wipe that horribly resigned look off of Jaskier’s face. Because it was the truth: if Geralt sent Jaskier away, Jaskier would go without an argument. Fae couldn’t lie. 

Geralt had wanted few things less in his entire life. “Don’t,” he said, cursing, for once, his inability to speak his feelings plainly. “Don’t go, Jas.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in shock, but he quickly hid it again. Still, there was an odd look in his eyes, something almost hopeful. “You don’t mind that I’m…” he trailed off. “Not quite as human as I’ve been claiming?”

“Of course I don’t,” Geralt answered honestly. “And, besides, you’ve never said you were human.”

That got a startled laugh out of Jaskier. “You’re right,” he conceded with a small smile. “But the fae are masters of lying by omission.”

“Better than an outright falsehood,” Geralt grunted, trying for humor. “At least I can trust what you say.”

“I’d never lie to you,” Jaskier said. He pursed his lips. “Well, except about this one thing. Admittedly a pretty big thing, but it still counts as one. And this was the only thing, I promise! Hyperbole, of course, doesn’t count.”

A small smile tugging at his own mouth. It was nice to know that Jaskier still felt comfortable enough around him ro ramble. They seemed to be past that one heart-stopping moment where Jaskier had thought Geralt would kill him. Silently, so that Jaskier wouldn’t notice, Geralt unpinned the iron dagger from his belt. He tossed it far behind him, taking a step forward to mask the noise of it falling. If Jaskier saw the motion, he didn’t let on, but his eyes did flick to the empty sheath for a half-second and something unreadable passed over his face.

“I know,” Geralt said, interrupting Jaskier’s ramble on what qualified as a lie, based on his own inability to tell them. “I trust you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier watched him with those blue, blue eyes. “Julian,” he whispered, correcting Geralt. It was barely more than an exhale, like he was afraid of the dirt and bugs hearing him. Knowing what he was, what he was giving Geralt, maybe he was. “My name. It’s not Jaskier; it’s Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

Geralt sucked in a breath. He knew what names were to the fae. They were power, they were  _ control _ . In the wrong hands, they were a leash. Worse, even, because a leash could be fought and tugged at. With Jaskier’s--  _ Julian’s _ \-- name, Geralt could control him wholly, and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to resist it. 

Why would Jaskier give him that? Geralt would never abuse it; he’d rather die. But, still, every fae he’d ever met had guarded their true names like the most precious of gems. But here Jaskier was, tossing it out like it was nothing. 

Like he wasn't handing Geralt his beating heart and the knife with which to stab it all at once. 

Geralt was still struggling for words. “Why?” he said finally.

“I wanted to tell someone,” Jaskier shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips, bitten red from sharpened teeth. “And you seemed like the person to tell.”

“I could…” Geralt trailed off, not knowing where he was going, not knowing what manner of threat would be enough to illustrate the severity of what Jaskier had done.

“But you won’t,” Jaskier said with no small amount of certainty. “Geralt, darling, how old do you think I am? Don’t you think I know not to give my name out to any pretty man who bats his eyelashes at me? I wanted to give it to you. I chose to, because I trust you.”

The words were nothing new, but now, knowing that Jaskier was incapable of lying, they took on a new weight. Geralt couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t stop staring at Jaskier’s luminous eyes.

“You think I’m pretty?” he said finally, latching onto the only part of Jaskier’s sentence that didn’t send him spiraling. Though, the whole truth thing put a new edge on Jaskier’s flirtations…

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for twenty years,” he said flippantly, like it was common knowledge, like he hadn’t just stolen the breath from Geralt’s lungs. “And I’ll readily admit to being the shallow sort. So, yes, of course I think you’re pretty. But is  _ that  _ what you’re choosing to focus on here? Not, oh, I don’t know, my show of commitment and devotion and  _ trust _ ? God, all men are the same, aren’t they? You give them one compliment, and--  _ oof! _ ”

It wasn’t a conscious decision on Geralt’s part to cut off Jaskier’s rambling with his mouth. It was barely even a developed thought; he’d just leaned in and suddenly they were kissing. Geralt couldn’t say he minded it one bit. Quite the contrary: kissing Jaskier was like breathing after an eternity spent suffocating underwater. He tasted, somehow, like how springtime felt. Geralt wouldn't have been surprised to pull away and see flowers blooming around them.

But he didn’t check, because that would’ve meant separating from Jaskier. Instead, he pulled the fae closer, until their bodies were flush against each other. The feeling of Jaskier’s lips on his own was addictive. Geralt thought he could get used to it.

Unfortunately, even Witchers needed to breathe sometimes. He pulled back slightly, panting, and leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s. He stared into those inhumanly blue eyes and wished again that he was good with words. 

“I--” he tried, searching. “ _ Julian _ , I…”

Jaskier smiled softly. “I know, darling,” he said. “You don’t need to say it. You’re showing me just fine.” 

It wasn’t a lie; it couldn’t have been. Geralt allowed himself a small smile and a breath before he was reeling Jaskier in to kiss him again. Maybe he didn’t have the words yet, but he could damn well kiss Jaskier until he found them. 

**Author's Note:**

> what did you think?
> 
> comments and kudos make me happy :))


End file.
